


Please Remember Me

by RedLily1104



Category: Ib (Video Game)
Genre: Art, Art History, Art School, College, Museums, Other, Repressed Memories, Sleep Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-17 12:49:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17560706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedLily1104/pseuds/RedLily1104
Summary: Ib has been plagued by insomnia ever since she left the gallery ten years ago. Now an art history student in her second year of college, Ib gets the chance to solve the mystery of her decade-long condition during winter break. What follows is something she couldn't have seen coming.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. So this is a fanfiction that I came up with in about 2012-2013. I'd wanted to wait till it was completely finished before I uploaded anything, but it ended up taking five years. Five years to complete this thing. Not sure if anyone else has this problem, but here you go. With that, I present to you my story Please Remember Me.

_Someone…_

_Anyone…_

_Please help…_

_It’s so dark_

_I can’t see_

_I can’t get out_

_I want to get out_

_I want to leave this place_

_Please get me out_

_I’m scared_

_Someone… please…_

_Help me_

 

* * *

 

There was no light, but there was noise. Muffled, at least, some sounds were clearer than others, but they were still muffled. Aside from that, it felt rather peaceful, with the mind floating about wherever it wished. No particular thought stayed for long. Nothing was discernible from anything. No one and nothing around to disturb the fleeting sense of disembodiment from the world. No one and nothing to be bothered by…

“Ib!”

Ib’s entire being jolted awake, although her eyes were still closed.

“Ib~! Yoo hoo! Wake up, sleepyhead!”

Ib felt someone grab both her shoulders and gently nudge her around a bit.

“Mmmmm...” Ib groaned.

“Hey! Snap out of it, Dreamer.”

Ib’s eyelids slowly pried open. In front of her were piles of books ranging from topics like the American Civil War to feudal Japan to ancient Europe. Strange that they had so many pictures of paintings and sculptures… Oh, right. She remembered where she was: at the college library where she had been working on a project before dozing off. What project was that again?

“Finally awake now?”

Ib turned her head to her left, where a young woman about her age stood, arms akimbo. She wore a bright green turtleneck sweater with a long formfitting white skirt, stylish bracelets on her manicured right hand, and high-heeled black boots. Her long blonde hair was tied neatly and fashionably into a high ponytail. Her soft, side swept bangs framed her peridot green eyes, which matched her sweater. She was glaring at Ib quizzically.

“Hi, Karen.”

Ib had met Karen at the beginning of the year during orientation. Over the course of the semester, they had bonded and had become like sisters. In fact, whenever a professor needed to see Ib, all he or she had to do was find Karen, for Ib was never too far off from her friend. The same could be said for Karen.

“I take it your insomnia got the best of you?”

“… … … Mhm...”

“Oi vey…”

Karen was normally the supportive type, but Ib’s recent sleep attacks had been wearing out the both of them. Ib’s grades had begun to take a beating, and Karen was starting to lose patience. The exasperation was clear on her face.

“Well, no use lounging around. The library’s closing up soon. We’d better get going.”

Ib looked around to see Karen had been right. Aside from the janitor and the librarian’s assistants working late, it was just the two of them. Through the wide, open windows, Ib noticed the sky had begun darkening. Just how long had Ib been asleep?

“Yeah, let’s go,” Ib yawned. With Karen’s help, Ib packed up what was hers and left the building, but not without a trip to the bathroom courtesy of Karen’s insistence.

Gazing into the mirror, Ib was surprised. Her pale face looked sullen, and it didn’t help that dark circles had begun to form under her scarlet eyes. To add to the mess, her normally smooth brown hair looked like a loosely built rat’s nest. The front side, at least. Her clothes were still neat, thank goodness, but she still looked like a half-dead corpse. Thank Karen for the description.

“Let’s see now,” Karen mused aloud. Rummaging through her stylish leather purse, the blonde fished out a comb that had been buried deep within the purse’s confines. She held it up to Ib, pinkies sticking out.

“It’s alright, it hasn’t been used.”

“M’kay…”

With Ib’s absent-minded consent, Karen began to unravel Ib’s sleep-deprivation-induced mane. Ib stayed still so as to not wreck Karen’s work.

“You should’ve been a hairstylist instead of an art historian,” Ib joked. To her delight, Karen’s face, which was fixed in concentration not too long before, softened with amusement. A chuckle escaped from her throat.

“Funny. Very funny.”

“You sure it’s not just me?” Ib stuck her tongue out to the right and crossed her eyes. This time, Karen nearly doubled over, giggling like a school girl while holding a lock of Ib’s hair in one hand and the comb in the other.

“Trying to be smart mouthed, are we?” Karen asked with a smirk. Ib knew Karen wasn’t snobbish, just that her supportive nature sometimes took so much out of her, so Ib felt it was time to repay the support Karen had given her, even if it was just inserting some humor into her life.

“Okay, almost done.” Karen had finished combing Ib’s hair. With the previously unkempt almost rat’s nest now silky smooth, Karen turned her attention to Ib’s clothes. Fortunately, for her, there wasn’t much to take care of, aside from the mussed necktie. All that needed to be done was to smooth and even it out. Even then, it didn’t take long to correct its condition.

“There, now you don’t look like a walking trash heap.”

Ib chuckled. _Karen_ was usually the sharp-tongued one, not Ib. It was funny how Karen could switch between so many different personas so quickly, and yet still be the same sister Ib had befriended. Or rather, to be more accurate, Karen was so expressive and eccentric it seemed like she had multiple personalities. If one didn’t know better, one would assume so, but, to Ib, it’s what made her such a special friend. That, and Karen was a surprisingly good listener, which is how Ib developed such deep trust in her.

“Oh, rats. We need to get going.” Ib glanced at Karen, who was checking her watch. Her expression matched the tone of her statement, and Ib saw why after checking her own watch. It was six fifty five in the afternoon, the library closed at exactly seven o’clock, and the entrance was a four minute walk from the bathrooms.

“Move it.” Karen began pushing Ib toward the door.

“On it.”

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t exactly night, but it was pretty dark. The sun was halfway set, so there wasn’t enough light to see where they were going were they to walk home. Luckily, for them, Karen drove to classes that day, and they found her car not too far from the library entrance.

“That was way too close,” Karen muttered. It had been quite obvious to Ib that Karen was having a rough week, what with a possible funeral to attend and a leech of a brother who’s recently started to drain Karen’s college funds… without her permission. Ib couldn’t blame Karen for the grouchy attitude lately, and her own sleep deprivation only added to the stress. Still… did she forget something? That nagging feeling in the back said yes.

“Did you get what Talons Lady said about the assignment?”

“Huh? Oh, right. Yes…”

Talons Lady, or better known as their professor, was widely known on campus for her freakishly long nails, hence the nickname.  Another fitting moniker for her was the oh-so-popular term “dragon lady”, considering she was quite harsh and unfair at times. Ib once saw an intern burst into tears after the professor scolded her, in front of the entire class even, for turning in a late assignment. From what Ib and Karen knew, the intern had gone through some things that just took away her time from the assignment. What they were, no one knew, but still, no one deserved to be humiliated like that. It’s no surprise that both girls agreed that that professor ought to be elsewhere besides teaching college kids.

“Got all your materials?”

“Yeah.” The nagging feeling stubbornly remained. Apparently, Karen noticed.

“You didn’t forget anything, did you?”

“Well… oh poop.” Her notebook. Ib and Karen had been in such a rush to leave before they got locked in the library that they had forgotten Ib’s red spiral in the library. Hopefully, the janitor they saw found it. They could probably stop by the next day to pick it up.

Wait, hold on. Poop…

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Karen grumbled.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me. It’s your grade.”

Those words stung, but they were true. Without that notebook, Ib had no hope of doing her project correctly.

Project? What project?

“What are we doing again?” Ib sheepishly asked.

“The report. We’re supposed to do a report on a piece of art done by a famous artist.”

Ib pondered for a bit.

“Does it have to be a famous artist?”

“Well~, to be honest, I don’t think she’ll care so long as it’s a report done on a painting or a sculpture. Whatever you choose.”

“’Kay.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Ib went back to thinking. Her eyelids felt heavy, and they were slowly closing.

 _Must stay awake_. If she were to fall asleep now, she’d have trouble falling asleep later that night. Then again, she’d been having a _lot_ of problems sleeping lately. Perhaps Karen might have an idea on what’s going on.

“Karen?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure. What?”

_Here goes nothing._

“It’s about… my sleep problems.”

“Hm?”

_Come on girl, breath. Let it out._

“I’ve been having weird dreams lately.”

“And?”

“Well… it’s just so weird.”

“Weird how?”

 _Weirder than you can imagine_.

“Ah, how can I say it…?”

“Spit it out.”

 _Yeah, do just that_.

“They feel like memories of some sort.”

“Memories?” Karen’s faced scrunched up in puzzlement.

“I feel like I’m forgetting something important, but I can’t figure out what.”

Silence.

“Go on.”

“I’ve felt that way ever since I visited that art gallery.”

“When you were nine?” Karen whistled. “That’s a long time. No wonder you’re so forgetful.”

Ib chuckled. Karen’s lips had a mischievous smile.

“And I’m not just talking about your Sleeping Beauty complex.”

Both girls laughed out loud. Even if she let her moods get the best of her at times, Karen was still the best friend Ib could ask for. She could always be counted on for a good laugh.

“So when did the dreams start? You said they were recent?”

“Mhm.” Ib still had tears in her eyes from laughing.

Silence again.

“So… when did they start?”

“Eh? Oh, about three weeks ago.”

Karen’s face scrunched again.

“Three weeks? You said your insomnia was long before that.”

“That’s what I haven’t told anyone about.”

Silence yet again.

“You’re kidding…”

“No I’m not. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since I came home from the gallery.”

The look on Karen’s face was a mixture of surprise and confusion. Her eyes were wide with shock. Suddenly, her hand reached for the gear shaft. She pulled the car over to the curb and shifted gears into parking mode. Turning to face Ib, she didn’t bother to turn off the car.

“Are you serious?!?”

Ib jumped, shocked at Karen’s sudden change in tone.

“Um…”

“You seriously haven’t had a good night’s sleep since you were nine years old?!?”

Ib shrinked back uncomfortably in her seat.

“Answer the question.” Karen was close to roaring. Ib was now cowering in her seat, too scared to answer. Karen sighed, massaging her temples.

“Honey, you need a doctor.”

“Can’t.”

“What do you mea--?”

“I’ve already tried.”

“Wha--?”

Ib sighed sadly.

“I’ve tried everything I can think of. Sleep medication, hypnotherapy, exercise. Nothing I’ve tried works.”

Karen went silent.

“And every time I’ve tried to remember, I can’t recall anything. It’s all just a big blank to me.”

“Nothing rings a bell? At all?”

“Nothing.” Ib did her best to fight back a sob. Strange, where did the sudden urge to cry come from…?

“Sorry.” Ib looked at Karen, surprised.

“Uh?”

“For snapping. I was just-- I mean no sleep since you were nine? I underestimated you, girl.”

Karen was still massaging her temples, but her face had softened. Ib swore there was a smile on Karen’s face right now.

“We’d better get back home. It’s almost--”

“Uh, Karen?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re already there.”

“What?”

When Karen stopped the car to scold Ib, she hadn’t realized they had parked right in front of their apartment complex, which also served as their dorm.

“Now _I’m_ an airhead.”

Laughter washed over the two girls. Whatever tension was between them before had vanished and was now long forgotten. To Ib, it was welcoming.

“Let’s get this thing parked properly. Then, how ‘bout we schedule a day where we can visit that art gallery of yours.”

“Eh?” Ib still had tears in her eyes. “Wait, are you saying…?”

“You said something’s been bothering you ever since you visited that gallery. So why not nip it in the bud?”

Ib couldn’t believe her ears. Was Karen suggesting they visit the gallery to figure out Ib’s sleeping problems? Yes, if she were to go there, find out what’s wrong, then perhaps Ib could finally have a restful night. With a smile, Ib agreed.

“Then it’s settled. We’re leaving tomorrow.”

_Tomorrow?_

“Um, Karen, don’t we ha-- oh, right.”

Tomorrow was the beginning of winter break. They’d have at least three and a half weeks to figure out the source of Ib’s troubles before classes started again.

“Um, shouldn’t we--”

“Already done.” Karen pulled out two hotel reservations, one for her, one for Ib. Of course. Leave it to Karen to be so prepared.

“One last thing.” Karen pointed at Ib. “Try like you’ve never tried before to sleep. Alright?”

“Yes ma’am!” Ib was grinning ear to ear as she followed Karen inside.

“Maybe I’ll also find a good painting to write my report on.”

“Kill two bird with one stone, why don’t you?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ib and Karen's plans are blindsided by a few unexpected problems...

_Can you hear me?_

_If you can_

_Please… answer_

_I hate it here_

_I want to get out_

_Will you please?_

_Even if I’m stuck here_

_Please, talk to me_

_Your voice_

_Is the only thing_

_Keeping me sane_

 * * *

           “Oh, come on!” Karen nearly roared. Taking in the situation, Ib stayed silent. It took about a week to actually set up a date where Karen and Ib could visit the gallery no thanks to flat tire expenses, a brotherly leech, an oil change, and a whole slew of other setbacks that cost them a week. To add insult to injury, it took another week to make reservations… again. The reservations Karen had made before were canceled without notice, so the girls were stranded at a cheapo while Karen looked for another hotel (Ib had a few suggestions, but further research proved them to be over the budget). Needless to say, it was unbelievably stressful and frustrating couple of weeks, even for winter break.

 

        “A week. A _week_! It took a freakin’ _week_ to find another freakin’ hotel! It’s _ludicrous_! Just plain _ludicrous_! How many times does it take a _week_ to find a stupid place to stay! Never~, nope, nada. Never has it taken a full, freakin’ week to make some freakin’ reservations for a freakin’ two-day stay! Can such a simple transaction really take an entire _week_?!?”

 

        It’s a wonder Ib still had her hearing intact after Karen’s impossibly high-pitched screeching. Well, who can blame her? To make such great preparations only for the effort to go down the drain like… never mind, it’s too gross.

 

_HONK!!!!_

 

        Ib snapped back into reality. From the passenger’s seat, she reminded herself what was going on: the girls accidentally slept in no thanks to a blackout during the night, which messed up their alarm clock. Karen’s phone had an alarm setting, but it ran out of battery during the night. How that happened… well, let’s just say they’re still scratching their heads over it. Further piling on the frustration was the fact that because of their impromptu sleepover, they were currently stuck in rush-hour traffic… which had come to a complete standstill.

 

_HONK!!!!_

 

        This time, Ib was aware of the source. Karen had gotten impatient, and was honking at the drivers ahead to move. First disastrous reshaping of plans that were later scrapped because of unforeseen circumstances, now standstill traffic followed by ominous-looking clouds and rain.

 

        Wait a minute. _Rain?!?_

 

        “What in the name of--!"

 

        Soon it started pouring. It was as if the heavens themselves had opened up and released whatever water they had accumulated. No one, especially the pedestrians who forgot their umbrellas, was happy.

 

        “Oops.” Ib suddenly remembered something she forgot to tell Karen.

 

        “What now?”  Karen grumbled.

 

        “I just remembered. I watched the forecast today and…” Karen perked an eyebrow. “…they said it was gonna rain.”

 

       “… … … … Oh for crying out loud!” Karen banged her head on the steering wheel, causing it to honk once more.

 

       “Sorry.” Ib grinned sheepishly. One glare from Karen was enough to make Ib shrink back in her seat.

 

       “… Well, at least we have umbrellas in the back. That’s a good thing.”

 

       _Only good thing about this entire trip, no doubt_. Ib mused. Slipping back into dream world, Ib dozed off yet again…

       _Can you hear me?_

       Ib jumped awake, eyes blinking. Was that a voice she just heard? Or did Karen just say something?  To ease here concerns, Ib glanced to the side where Karen was. Judging by her fixed, concentrated glare, furrowed brows and pursed lips, it was obvious Karen was too focused on the standstill traffic to even mutter a word. Not to mention the voice sounded _male_.

       _You can hear me, right?_

 

       This time, Ib was conscious enough to recognize the voice was not of a corporeal origin.

 

       _It was in her mind._

 

       But why her? Why didn’t Karen hear it? Or…?

 

       “Karen.”

 

       No response.

 

       “Karen?”

 

       Still no response.

 

       “Karen.”

 

       “What?”

 

       Ib flinched a bit at the harshness in Karen’s tone. She was angry and frustrated for good reason right now. Would it be wise to ask her about the voice _now?_ It was worth a shot.

 

       “Did you hear anything?”

 

       “… Aside from you and the nincompoops on the road, no.”

 

       “’Kay.”

 

       Not exactly the response she was looking for, but hey at, least Ib knew it was just the two of them in the car.

      

       _And that voice_.

 

       …

       …

       …

 

       _Are you still there?_

 

       There it was again. Loud and clear in her subconscious. By now, Ib was debating whether or not to answer back. If she were to talk back, how would she go about it? Conversely, if she were to stay quiet, what would happen then? So many questions were swimming through her mind, yet they all seemed so irrelevant. Call it crazy or not, Ib had to have answers. And the only way to answer the multitude of questions was to ask the voice itself. Gathering up her courage, Ib muttered one small word.

 

       “Hi.”

 

       _Glad to know you can hear me_.

 

       For some strange reason, Ib smiled. It wasn’t as nerve-wrecking as she initially thought. In a strange sense, it was actually comforting talking to him, assuming the voice belonged to a man and not a woman with a masculine voice. Speaking of which, despite sounding masculine in tone, it talked like a lady. Since it was brought to mind, Ib felt bold enough to ask a personal question.

 

       “Why do you talk like a lady?”

 

       _Ah -- erm, well…_

 

       It paused.

 

       _I just took to it. Besides, it’s better to be gentle rather than rough._

 

       Ib giggled to herself.

 

       _I -- uh…_

 

       Another pause, another schoolgirl giggle from Ib.

 

       _Did I say something?_

 

       No answer, only giggles.

 

       _You’re kinda freaking me out._

 

       “Am I?”

 

       Ib was almost ready to split her gut when she felt a jolt forward. She snapped out of her subconscious conversation long enough to observe her surroundings.

 

       “Alright, finally! We’re moving!” Karen exclaimed happily. Apparently, whatever was causing the standstill was now gone, and traffic could finally start up again. It was impossible not to notice Karen’s wave of relief.

 

       _Is she your friend?_

 

       “Mhm. Not for very long, though. We’ve only known each other since orientation.”

 

       _Ah, I see._

 

       “Even so,” Ib paused, glancing affectionately at Karen. “She’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”

 

       _I’m glad to hear that._

 

       “Thank you.” A sudden question popped up in her mind. One she’d been meaning to ask but couldn’t remember until now.

 

       “What’s your name?”

 

       …

       …

       …

      

       No answer. Did she offend it?

 

       “Hello?”

 

       …

       …

       …

 

       Still no reply.

       “Are you still there?”

 

       …

       …

       …

 

       Another unresponsive moment. Ib sat there wondering, _Did I insult him?_

 

       …

       …

       …

 

       Oh dear. It must’ve been insulted because it didn’t answer for a full five minutes afterwards. When it finally did come back, it was not in the tone Ib was expecting.

      

       _Dear me…_

 

       It was barely audible, but Ib caught it. It didn’t sound angry, thank goodness, but it sounded so… so sad. And lonely. Why was that?

       “Is something wrong?”

 

       …

       …

       …

 

       Another pause. Seriously, the long and increasingly frequent pauses were starting to unnerve her, if not slightly annoy her.

 

       _Nothing’s wrong._

 

       Finally, an answer. Ib wasn’t convinced it was alright, but under the circumstances, it’d be best to leave it be… for now.

       “That’s good to hear.” It was the most she could offer for comfort, even if it wasn’t much. Ib silently cursed herself for not being able to offer more.

       “Oh man, get a whiff of that.” Ib turned to face Karen, who was eyeing a café on the other side of the street. Out of nowhere, a sudden aroma filled Ib’s nostrils. To say it was sweet was a severe understatement. _It smelled absolutely divine._ It was as if someone took two of the world’s sweetest flavors, in this case chocolate and vanilla, trimmed them of their sugar content, combined them, and created something akin to the ambrosia of the Olympian gods. Ib noticed drool on Karen’s chin. Of course, that’s not to say Ib herself wasn’t drooling. The sweet perfume was too good to be ignored.

       “Macaroons…” Karen whispered silently, albeit with a predatory tone. Ib couldn’t help noticing the drool had increased, combined with the hungry hawk (or coyote) look in Karen’s eyes. It was impossible not to realize Karen was dying to munch on a macaroon, whatever those were. It was also impossible not to notice the car’s gradual lean towards the café.

       Hold it. Was it supposed to be leaning like that?

 

       _I see she likes macaroons as well_.

 

       Ib snapped back into her unconscious chit chat.

       “Mhm.  Karen has a weakness for sweets. I sometimes have to pull her away from the snack aisle whenever we go grocery shopping.”

       For a few scant seconds, both Ib and the voice were laughing. It felt good to relieve the tension from before, where Ib thought she had insulted it by asking its name. Out of the blue, the voice’s tone changed.

      

       _Ummm…_

 

       Hesitation. Okay, these silences were starting to grate on her nerves.

 

       _Are we supposed to be heading that way?_

 

       “What?” Ib hadn’t realized before that Karen was slowly edging toward the café… in front of an oncoming car barreling from the opposite direction.

 

       _Eeeeeeeyaaaaaaah!! Ib!! Please!! Stop her! Stop her!! Stop her!!!_

 

       It was practically screaming its lungs out, assuming it has lungs. Nevertheless, Ib had to do something, _anything_ , to get out of that car’s way. An idea popped in her head, but it was dangerous.

       “I know what to do.”

 

       _Huh?!?_

 

       Without a second thought, Ib jerked the wheel and swerved their car out of the oncoming vehicle’s way. For a split second, there was honking and screeching of tires, and Ib swore she heard a shrill, high-pitched shriek in the depths of her subconscious. As quickly as it had passed, everything was back to normal. Sort of. It didn’t help to settle down Ib’s trembling nerves and bug-eyed face. What the heck was Karen thinking?!?

 

       “Um, Karen?”

       No response. Just a blank stare ahead.

       “Karen?”

       Still nothing. Ib would’ve waved her hand jokingly in front of Karen’s eyes, but they were still on the road, and she was still too scared stiff to move right now. Karen blinked once before turning to face Ib, smiling(?)

       “Say Ib?”

       “Y-y-yes-s-s-s?” Apparently, Ib was also too scared stiff to speak clearly as well.

       “Once we’re done at the museum, wanna stop by the café for some sweets? I could sure use a sweet treat.”

       “Y-y-y-y-yea-a-a-a-h. S-s-s-su-r-r-re…” was all Ib had the strength to mutter, barely enough for Karen to hear. The near-death experience was still vivid in her mind.

 

       _Is she always like this when she smells sweets?_

 

       “Almost, not always.” To say she wasn’t surprised the voice was as frightened as she was would be a severe understatement. No sane person would be smiling after a high-adrenaline experience like that, unless said “sane” person was a daredevil.

       “Can I ask you something?”

 

       _Yes?_

 

       “What are macaroons?”

       Yet another pause. By now, Ib was quite irritated with this voice. She’d had enough of the frequent pauses, and this last one was the nail in the coffin.

       “If you’re not going to answer me, we might as well end it right here!” The ire was clear in Ib’s tone.

 

       “Who’re you talking to?”

 

       This time, it was Ib who was pausing. Board stiff and upright. Had Karen heard the conversation?

       “Ummm…” Ib tried to imitate her usual sleepy-eyed look. It didn’t fool anyone.

       “No one,” she squeaked meekly. Knowing Karen, she wouldn’t be fooled by something so obviously fake. Still, it was a good thing she was nice… sometimes. This was one of those times.

       With a small shrug, Karen returned her attention to the road when her eyes lit up.

       “Hey, look! We’re here!”

       “Huh?” Ib hadn’t noticed they were so near to the gallery they were heading to. Thank the standstill, rain, voice, and the café for that. Speaking of the rain…

 

       “Hey! The rain cleared up! What a relief!”

 

       Corny. Just plain corny. Well, Karen wouldn’t be Karen without a corny joke flying off her sharp tongue every now and then. Ib just nodded, smiled, and tagged along.

 

       _So I’ll see you again inside?_

 

       See her again? What in the name of--?

       “What do you mean?”

       Thankfully, no pause, but there was a heavy, sad sigh from the other end.

 

       _You really don’t remember, do you?_

 

       Remember what? Now that he mentioned it, there was an eerie sense of nostalgia about him. Was it just déjà vu? Thinking further about it, Ib did recall him shrieking her name during the café incident. Just who was he, and how did he know her? Where and how did _she_ know _him_?

 

       “Aw crud!” Karen’s yell interrupted Ib’s train of though.

 

       “What?”

 

       “No questions! Move! Move! Move!” Karen burst out of the car at lightning speed, not even bothering to look both ways, and barreled towards Ib’s side. She pretty much threw open the passenger door in her quest to get Ib on her feet. Were they even-- oh yeah. They parked. But why the rush? Checking her watch and the pamphlet on the glove compartment, Ib realized they had arrived just as the museum was closing. Oh dear.

 

       “I guess I’ll see you inside then, whoever you are.”

 

       Perhaps, once she was in the gallery again, she could finally have the answers to her myriad of questions.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ib finally meets the voice, but it doesn't go as expected

_You don’t remember me, do you?_

“I’m not sure, but you seem familiar.”

_We’ve met before, a long time ago._

“Why can’t I recognize you?”

_You were young. Not too young to remember, though._

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

_I know. It’s just-- Oh…_

“Just what?”

_We went through so much together, you and I._

“I don’t understand.”

_I know. It’s not you_

“Then what is it?”

_Something must’ve happened when you escaped._

“Escaped from where?”

_… I’ll leave it at that for now._

“Why?”

_Because I want to tell you in person._

 

* * * 

 

        “What do you mean you can’t accept anyone right now?!?”

        “I’m sorry, ma’am, but because we’re closing for the day, we’re not allowing anyone in. It’s our policy.”

        “Policy, schmolicy. Can’t you make even one exception?”

        “No exceptions, ma’am. Those are the rules.”

        “Oh for crying out loud…”

        She’d forgotten how long they’d been there, but she was sure only a few minutes had passed. There wasn’t really anything Ib could do but stand there and watch Karen argue with the receptionist. Apparently, they’d arrived too late to secure a tour. Not that Ib minded, of course. She could use another two or more hours of sleeping given her condition.

 

          _But this was not an opportunity to throw away easily_.

 

        If she could find out why she dreamed of animated headless statues chasing her, ladies in various colors bursting out of their frames and crawling like maniacs, and white mannequin heads dripping a red fluid, then perhaps she could finally have a good night’s sleep. Glancing off to the side, Ib saw her opportunity. Since the gallery was closing (and short-staffed, Ib noticed), there was one staircase that hadn’t been blocked off yet.

 

        The staircase leading upwards.

 

        She started sneaking off while Karen continued her crusader’s quest, but stopped and hesitated. A small nagging feeling tugged at her. If she were to go off on her own into a museum calling it a day, wouldn’t it be considered trespassing?

 

_They might think of it like that._

 

        There it was. Where had it--? Oh, right. It trailed off outside the museum because it wanted to talk to her _in person_.

 

        _You know, you can always try tomorrow._

       

        True, very true. But then… what would happen during the time until tomorrow. Plus, there’d be _people_. Who would watch her talking to a painting, of all things, and wonder if she’s touched in the head. Ib didn’t want that.

 

        “Better now or never,” Ib whispered to herself. With a renewed resolve, she walked off, leaving a fervent Karen still in a verbal match with the receptionist.

 

* * *

 

        Walking up a staircase isn’t often associated with nostalgia, but for Ib, it opened up a treasure chest of memories.

 

        _Except that one that always eluded her_.

 

        Once she had reached the top, she stood still for what seemed like an hour, even though it had only been a scant minute.

 

        _Can you see me?_

 

        Aside from the window, eight paintings lined the wall, accompanied by two sculptures to the southwest. _The three headless statues unnerved her for some reason_. Ignoring the sudden feeling of alarm, Ib casually sauntered up to the painting by the window.

 

        The slate read “Lady Taking the Newspaper”. True to the title, the painting was of a blonde woman in a simple plum dress taking what seemed to be the morning newspaper. Ib smiled at the warm memory of her mother reminding her to bring her handkerchief with her.

 

_Did you remember everything, Ib?_

_Oh! Do you have your handkerchief?_

_You know, the one you got for your birthday._

_Keep it safe in your pocket, okay?_

_Don’t lose it!_

 

        Speaking of the handkerchief, Ib instinctively reached into her back pocket. She fished out the white, silky cloth decorated with lace from underneath a pile of other mundane things. She unfolded the snowy material to reveal her name written in black ink on one of the corners.

 

        Ib.

 

        She held the handkerchief close to her face, a slight blush following.

 

        Strange. Why did her face suddenly feel warm? The air conditioning was still on, despite it being closing hours. Shrugging it off to the side, Ib clip-clapped onto the next painting.

 

        Hanged Man.

 

        Somehow, this particular painting felt out of place here. Ib couldn’t stop thinking another painting should be here.

 

        _They moved things around a little bit._

 

        She didn’t have much choice but to take its word for it and move on.

 

        The next painting was hard to see, even without the glare from the ceiling lights. Heck, she had to squint her eyes hard just to read the slate underneath it.

       

        “Couplet Towers,” it read. Guertena must’ve been gifted in naming as well, since the painting was a symmetrical portrayal of two identical towers. Ib recalled in English class that “couplet” meant two lines in a poem with the same number of syllables joined by rhyme to form a unit. Taking this concept and applying it to art, along with taking the painting’s title and content into account, it fit so well.

 

        The next painting Ib focused her attention on was definitely disturbing.

 

        Worry.

 

        The bug-eyed, deathly white man against a vivid, almost bloody vermilion backdrop was enough to cause nightmares for a week. As if Ib needed anymore sleep problems. Shuddering, she clicked her heels and sped the opposite direction. She stopped between “Lady Taking the Newspaper”, “Hanged Man”… _and those statues_.

 

        Ib couldn’t put her finger on it, but those statues filled her with indescribable dread, even though she was only looking at them. She felt as if they would _come to life and try to kill her._

       

        _Trust me, they won’t._

 

        Ib let out a sigh of relief.

 

        _In this world anyway._

 

        This world…?

 

        …

        …

        …

 

        What did he mean this world? Was there another world Ib didn’t know about? It didn’t hurt to ask, but it did take some careful thought.

 

        “What world do you think you’re in?” Awkward, but at least it got an answer.

       

        _Actually, it might not be a_ real _world, but a painting._

 

        _What?!?_ A _painting?!?_

 

        “What do you mean a painting?”

 

_The Fabricated World…_

 

        Fabricated World… Okay, why was there a chill up the spine all of a sudden? Ib was literally feeling her blood run cold at the mention of this “Fabricated World”.

 

        …

        …

        …

 

        Ah, yes. The mural… There was a large mural stretching across one wall just around the corner where the statues stood. Ib was curious to see it, but her feet were glued to the floor. How irritating. No matter what she did to will her feet to move, they remained still. They began to feel numb…

       

        _I’m just down the hallway, in case you’re curious._

 

         His soothing voice brought the warmth back to her now board-stiff body. With that, she was able to command her feet again. Slowly, she regained the feeling throughout the rest of her body. Wonderful thing, fear was. Powerful, too. Soon enough, she was able to straighten out her posture. She was ready to meet the face behind the voice.

 

        “Which way do I go?”

 

        _Just follow the paintings here._

 

        “Simple enough,” she quietly chuckled.

 

        Including the ones she looked at earlier, there were eight paintings total. On this particular wall anyway.

 

        Misshapen Diamond. The Lady in Red. Bitter Fruit. Spectacle of Centuries End. For some reason, they all had an odd sense of nostalgia about them. Perhaps it was all the fond memories Ib made with her parents here? Possibly, though, like with the statues, there was something eerie about the Lady in Red painting…

 

        _Can you see me now?_

 

        Ib broke out of her train of thought long enough to reply.

 

        “No.”

 

        Didn’t it say it was at the end of the hallway here?

 

        _I am, but…_

 

        Awkward pause.

 

        _I must be in the other hallway. Oops…_

 

        Ib had to slap herself right there. Not because of her, but because of _it_. How in the world did it expect her to find it if _it_ didn’t know where it was.

 

        _Hold on. I think I see you._

 

        What? It did?

 

        _Turn around._

 

        Ib turned to the left.

 

        _Further._

 

        She turned right

 

        _Other way._

 

        Her back was now facing “Spectacle of Centuries End”.

 

_Stop._

 

        She obeyed. In the distance, behind a tasty-looking tree and an amorphous blue figure, she could barely make out a dull brown frame. She’d have to get closer to see the content of the painting no thanks to the lights being out. At least there was a generous amount of whatever was left of the sunlight. Thank goodness for that.

 

        _Did you see a brown frame anywhere?_

 

        Thank you Captain Interruption. Yes, she had seen the frame, but she hadn’t seen _him_ , assuming the voice was a _him_.

 

        _The painting…_

 

        The painting…?

 

        …

        …

        …

 

        What about the painting?

 

        _That’s me._

 

        “Wha--?!?”

 

        The voice… it was coming from a… painting…?

 

        …

        …

        …

 

        This whole time… she had been talking to a _painting?_

       

        _Kinda shocking, eh?_

       

        It let out a nervous chuckle, even though Ib was still too shocked to respond. To think, this whole time, she had been talking to a collection of paint brushed on a surface inside a rectangular frame… Well, at least she finally knew where the voice came from… somewhat. The painting itself was still too far away to determine what its content was. Besides, Ib didn’t actually have enough concrete evidence to prove the voice came from a painting despite getting the say-so from it. Of all things… a painting… was talking to her. Still, it can’t hurt to at least take a look. With that, Ib began walking towards the other end of the hallway.

 

        She passed the tree that looked like candy.

       

        “Taste-Cleansing Tree” it was called. How fitting.

 

        She passed the blue blob resembling a disfigured person from the waist up.

       

        “Fusion” the slate read. Fusion? Of what? Feelings? Bodies? Okay, scratch that last one out. Whatever it was, it looked pretty dang creepy, for lack of a better word. Magnificent technique, though. She had to give Guertena credit for his imagination and skill.

 

        Now, however, it was time to get serious. It was time to get the answers to her problems. Taking a deep breath, Ib shifted her attention to the painting in the dull brown frame.

       

        She was ready to face the voice from the painting, whatever and whoever it might be.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything goes wrong...

_We finally meet again._

“ So we do. One question, though.”

_Yes? What is it?_

“How did we meet? In the gallery, that is.”

_You saved my life, so I used mine to save yours._

“I only asked one question.”

_I know. It’s just…_

“…”

_I’m just so happy to see you again, after so long._

“It’s only been ten years.”

_Really? Heh, time must flow differently here._

“How’s that possible?”

_Guertena was capable of creating more than just art, apparently._

“You mentioned a painting world. Did Guertena create that as well?”

_Yes, he did. As a matter of fact, he created everything you see here._

“?”

_This side of the spectrum, anyway._

“…”

_Is there something wrong?_

“… You haven’t told me your name.”

_Ah, my apologies._

“…”

_My name is Garry._

 

_* * *_

 

        “I am so sorry for that outburst of mine, sir. I promise you it won’t happen again.”

 

        “It’s fine, ma’am. It’s not the first time an incident like that happened.”

 

        “I know, but it was incredibly childish of me to behave like that. I’ve been under a lot of stress lately, but that was still no excuse for my behavior.”

 

        Ib had no clue what had happened when Karen found her. She remembered sneaking off into the gallery, against her conscience, looking around for nostalgia’s sake up to arriving at a certain painting. Afterwards… nothing. It was like someone had pulled out a sheet of paper with a treasure chest of information and didn’t put it back. No matter what she tried to do, she could not recall what was so important about that painting. Her mind was a total blank.

 

        Maybe it was her sleep deprivation working its magic on her. Lovely. Karen did say Ib looked like a zombie with the way her eyes were glazed over, combined with an expressionless face, plank-rigid posture, and a mouth wide open like a Venus flytrap. Speaking of Venus flytraps…

 

        “I’m surprised no bugs flew straight in there the way you sent out the invitation,” Karen joked. Leave it to her to crack a joke like that at a time like this. Well, it’s Karen, the stylish fashionista with a side of spicy jalapeño humor to add flavor to the day. Where would Ib be without that chili pepper of a friend to guide her along the rocky roads of life? She could learn to be less dependent, but that’s beside the point. She needed to focus on how she was going to explain to Karen why she ran off like she did… after she was done with the receptionist, of course. Business first.

 

        _…_

_…_

_…_

_Don’t go..._

_…_

_…_

_…_

_What?_ Ib whipped her head left and right. _Who said that?_!

 

* * *

 

_The memory scatters as soon as you touch it._

_Whether or not it is meant to be, it evades my reason._

_I am, however, aware that something has taken your memory hostage._

What?

 

_Do not be afraid. I do not mean to harm you._

 

You don't mean to harm me... _what?!_

 

_Please, Ib..._

 

Don't you dare call me by my name. I don't even know who you are!

 

_Ib--_

 

Don't _Ib_ me! I haven't slept well since I was nine years old! _Tell me how I'm supposed to accept you like that!_

_..._

 

        "Ib?"

 

        Ib turned around.

 

        "Are you... Okay?..."

 

        Karen and the receptionist were both wearing expressions that screamed concern. Well, duh. She'd be surprised if she wasn't committed to an insane asylum after this. Running off on her own, being found in a state similar to catatonia, and now screaming at people who weren't there. Really, Ib should consider herself lucky she had such wonderful--

 

        _Friend?_

 

        "..."

 

        "Ib?"

 

        "What?"

 

        Karen backs away, alarm worming its way onto her face.

 

        "You're... acting strangely," she place a hand on Ib's forehead. "And I'm not talking cartoon strange, I'm talking 'you need to see a doctor' strange."

 

        And again, Ib can't blame her.

 

        "Let's just get this over with, please."

 

        Her friend stared at her, contemplating. As though she were making an important decision.

 

        "... Fine by me, but _please_ go see a doctor once we get back. I _don't_ want to see you drive yourself into the ground for an incident that happened when you were nine."

 

        _Fair enough_ , Ib thinks.

 

        "I'll let you ladies be on your way, then," the receptionist said.

 

        "Thank you very much, sir. We appreciate it," Karen replied with a plastered on smile on her face, guiding Ib to the front door.

 

* * *

 

_Memories of an empty gallery surge in her mind._

_No longer in charge of her own fate, the paintings summoned her into their world._

 

_Even so, a fellow soul with a rose of blue found its way to her, with her rose of red._

_But a third, a rose of yellow, wormed her way in between them, severing their connection with one another._

_Failing the Room of Dolls, he was subject to sacrificing himself for the sake of the child with him._

_All because of a Yellow Rose._

 

        "I told you to _leave me alone!_ "

 

        "Ib?!"

 

        Ib had collapsed on the floor, grasping her head, and screaming at an invisible voice.

 

        "Ib!"

 

        The voice was absent, apparently scared off from her sudden outburst.

 

        _Please forgive me... I did not mean to--_

 

        "Shut it."

 

        Karen backed away, alarmed by her friend's sudden hostility.

 

        "If you wanted me to come save you, then that's too bad."

 

        Karen sucked in a breath, unsure of what was happening in front of her.

 

        "I didn't ask you to come talk to me from your side of the world."

 

        Karen looked at the receptionist, who nodded and gestured to the pamphlet containing the hospital's contact information.

 

        "Just _please_ leave me alone!"

 

        The voice that had spoken to her stopped, its own breath sucking in.

 

        _You... you..._

 

        At this point, Ib did not care that the voice was in any sort of desperation. She wanted a good night's sleep, a peaceful day, without _voices from the other side_ tormenting her every waking moment. Was it simply too much to ask that she be left in peace? Was it too much to ask that she have a good night's sleep?

 

        _I should've known..._

 

        Known what? That she'd react like this once she figured out what was causing those auditory hallucinations? No. It shouldn't have expected her to just waltz up and accept forgiveness. It--

 

        _Please don't leave me!_

 

        " _Ib!_ "

 

        Ib collapsed to the floor, after an episode of delirium left her shaking in cold sweat.

 

        "Ib! Wake up!"

 

        It was no use. Ib was unresponsive.

 

        "Ib!"

 

        Karen was close to sobbing for her friend.

 

        " _Ib!"_


	5. Chapter 5

_I'm so sorry..._

"Of?"

 

_What has happened to you since..._

 

"..."

 

_I didn't mean--_

 

"Please. Just stop."

 

_..._

 

"I haven't had a good night's sleep since I was nine years old. And that was ten years ago"

 

_..._

__

"How did you _expect_ me to react? To find out that all along I've been talking to a painting. A painting in a decade-old gallery of work."

 

_Ib..._

 

"And how do you even know my name? I don't remember _anything_ that happened in this _Fabricated World_."

 

_Something must've happened to your memory, then._

 

"What?"

 

_It's the only explanation I have. For what has happened._

"You're not making any sense."

 

_It's the most sensible answer I can come up with._

 

"Wait, you mean--?"

 

_I do not know myself what has happened._

 

"..."

 

_I only remember what happened here, on this side of the world._

 

"So then... You don't remember what's happened to me?"

 

_We separated when my rose was destroyed._

 

"Destroyed?..."

 

_Yes._

 

"I..."

 

_You do not need to blame yourself._

 

"..."

 

_What has happened has happened. We cannot change it._

 

"But... I was so rude..."

 

_..._

 

"How can-- how can you forgive me? When all I did just now was yell and scream?"

 

_It's to be expected when you encounter something as unfamiliar as this._

 

"Point taken."

 

* * *

 

       Ib lay in the hospital bed, with only the television on a corny soap opera and the heartrate monitor for company. To say that she felt like utter bull was the understatement of the century, if not the millenium. She had collapsed in front of her best friend, who not only had to drive her to the hospital, but was also paying for her hospital stay as well. Out of her own pocket, and with the money that she had earned all by herself. What had she done to deserve a friend like Karen? What had she done other than be an additional load that her friend didn't need?

 

        "..."

 

        She could hear the nurses on the other side of the door talking, with someone familiar with her.

 

        "Yes, she's over here. Allow me, please,"

 

        The sound of the door unlocking joined the company of the television and the heart monitor.

 

        "Ib!" exclaimed the voice of her mother. "What happened?!"

 

        Yep. Go figure that Karen had called her parents after this fainting episode. Even her father, bless his heart, was worried sick.

 

        "Oh my goodness, Ib," her father exclaimed. "What on earth happened?"

 

        How could she explain, she wondered. What had happened. That she fainted after wandering off, entered a state of catatonia, and talked to a living painting. Yep. That would go over _so well_ with her parents, who already had enough to deal with courtesy of her own insomnia.

 

        "Truth be told, I have no idea myself."

 

        Not entirely true, but it gave her some leeway until she could find a proper explanation.

 

        Which could possibly be forever.

 

        "Karen called us as soon as she came here," her mother said.

 

        "Really, Ib. You're lucky you weren't alone when you passed out," her father added.

 

        Harsh words, Ib knew, but words she needed to hear at the time being.

 

        "Where is... Karen?" Ib rasped out.

 

        "She's downstairs in the lobby," her mother answered. "You scared her quite a bit. And us by extension."

 

        She shouldn't be surprised. What sane person wouldn't freak out after seeing someone pass out right in front of them. Landing on hard pavement, no less. She was lucky it was smooth flooring and not the rough asphalt of the road. Or the porous concrete of the sidewalk. She was _incredibly_ lucky (or unlucky, however it's viewed), that she had passed out in front of someone with a phone. _Insanely_ lucky it was someone she knew, who knew how to take care of her in the event of such a spell.

 

        "Hmm...."

 

        Speaking of spells, what on earth was going on in there? In the gallery?

 

        Ib pondered while her parents spoke.

 

        "Once the doctor clears you to go, you are coming _straight_ home. Understood?"

 

        "Yes, mother..."

 

        "Good. I won't have you fainting like that again, do you hear?"

 

        She had to appreciate how much her mother worried about her. While yes, it was annoying at times, everywhere else it had saved her. Like the time she had passed out from exhaustion on the bus to work. Without Karen, only her father was available to call her mother, since by some _miracle_ , her father took the same bus to his own workplace.

 

        Really. What did she do to deserve such amazing people in her life?

 

        "How about this?" her father smiled. "Once we're home, I'll make you a nice big pot of chicken soup. No onions, but lots of lettuce. How does that sound?"

 

        "Sounds great, papa. I'd love some."

 

        "Good," her father said, while reaching over to ruffle her hair.

 

        "Be careful, dear. She's still recovering."

 

        "Yes, dear," her father joked.

 

* * *

 

 

        That very night, Ib was wide awake, another insomnia spell working its way into her routine.

 

        "Oh please no..."

 

        The voice didn't come tonight, and after her parents left with Karen, Ib felt an immense loneliness swarm over her.

 

        _Just like that time in the gallery._

 

        "The gallery..."

 

        What was she expecting to happen once she reached it? That all her problems would magically go away once she figured out their source? No. These idiotic things took time and money to heal. Money, which had become a precious resource since her treatments started. But what could she do to make it go away? Conduct a magical ritual and wish it away? No. Ib knew she had to face the reality. That this insomnia would plague her until her dying breath. Was there really no hope for her at this point?

 

        _You're certainly a sight for sore eyes..._

 

        "!..."

 

        There! That voice--!

 

        _I'm... I'm not interrupting your sleep, am I?_

 

        What?

 

        "No.... No you're not...."

 

        The voice breathed a sigh of relief.

 

        _Oh, thank goodness.... Dear me, I thought you were a goner._

 

        Ib had to chuckle. Having dealt with insomnia for ten years, it would take more than a fainting spell to take her out for good.

 

        "Haha..."

 

        She knew that, but did the voice know that?

 

        "I can't believe I'm talking to you here... this far away from the gallery..."

 

        She was already in a hospital. Would it cause more trouble to send her to a hospital designed for mental patients? She had to wonder how many artists were sent there for thinking out of the box. Out of the accepted norm that people love so much. Was this what Guertena thought when he published his artwork?

 

        _I... meant no harm to you. I'm sorry._

        Sorry? For what? From what Ib remembers, after having cooled down, the voice didn't really do anything worth prison time for. In hindsight, Ib had lashed out and swore to never speak again after she was caught. Was it an effect of leaving the Fabricated World?

 

        "I'd accept your apology, but I'm stuck in the hospital with a minor concussion. I'd like to be fully healthy before I accept any apologies."

 

        She got the voice to chuckle this time.

 

        _Even after all these years, you still haven't lost that weird sense of humor._

 

        "It must be a natural thing for me."

 

        _Such is the world of the creatives._

 

        Creatives... People who operated outside the accepted norm. Who opened eyes and enraged the authorities just for thinking differently from the masses.

 

        "I never got to ask."

 

        _Yes?_

        Ib had to steel herself, despite laying in a hospital bed.

 

        "Why did you call out to me?"

 

        The voice paused, thinking?

 

        "Was I someone special to you? Was I a relative?"

 

        The voice chose to think for a while before speaking again.

 

        _I... suppose you are special in a way._

 

        Ib blushed.

 

        For someone your age, you were quite brave.

 

        Brave? Surely, he's joking.

 

        _I had lost my rose to a Painting Lady, and you got it back. What's more, you braved many strange things before you met me, even getting my rose back from a Painting Lady._

 

        With all the praise he was showering her with, Ib was certain her head would inflate.

 

        _But because of her, all that effort was for nothing..._

 

        "... her who?"

 

        _The painting named Mary._

 

        Mary...

 

        "I... think I remember her."

 

        The voice paused.

 

        "She seemed like us, at first. But then she went crazy after you found out she was a painting."

 

        _Why... Yes, erm--_

 

        Ib smiled.

 

        "I think I remember now."

 

        _You--you do?!_

 

        "Yes..."

 

        Memories of their time from the Fabricated World crashed like a tidal wave, each one more precious than the last. But the last one...

 

        "You... you died in that world..."

 

        _Yes..._

 

        "I...." Ib felt tears beginning to form. "I thought you were sleeping..."

 

        _Oh no, dear. It was far worse than that, I'm afraid._

 

        Ib felt the hot tears beginning to flow.

 

        "And when I found you in the gallery, I didn't... recognize you..."

 

        _Shhh...._

 

        The voice, Garry, soothed her.

 

        _It's alright. You didn't know._

 

        Ib's quiet tears slowly morphed into a sob.

 

        "How?... It's not right... It's not right.."

 

        Garry's voice continued to soothe her, until she calmed down.

 

        _It was something neither of us could have seen coming._

 

        Ib was quiet.

 

        _But for what it's worth, it was worth it seeing you alive._

 

        "Thank you..."


	6. Epilogue

"It sure is nice seeing you back in one piece, Ib."

"Oh, shush. It was only a few days."

Ib's parents were at the front office checking her out of the hospital. Even without seeing their faces, Ib could tell they were immensely tired from this latest episode of hers. Not that she could blame them. After all, the hospital visits drained money from her college funds as well.

"I still can't believe you actually slept well last night. Christmas really is the season for miracles."

"Haha, you could say that again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, after this many years, I finally finished this little fanfic. If there is enough interest in this story, I may consider a sequel of sorts.  
> Truth be told, Karen was an OC that just sprang to life when I started to write her. She took on a life of her own when I started this fic, but I'm not sure I'll do anything else with her given that my interest in Ib has long since passed. Which is a shame, since it's such an amazing indie RPG. Ib is pretty much what got me started on RPG Maker horror games, so I have that to thank for setting me on this path. I myself have two RPGs in the conceptual phase. You can find me on the RPG Maker forums under the same handle as my handle here, if you're interested.  
> That said, thanks for sticking this long. See ya later.


End file.
